


This Heart, This Alpha Skin

by itachitachi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Allison, Alpha Scott McCall, Alpha/Alpha Relationship, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Consent Issues, F/M, Female Alpha, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Isaac, Open Relationships, Pansexual Character, Playing with queerness in an A/B/O world, Polyamorous Character, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Queer Themes, Scents & Smells, communication issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1203226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itachitachi/pseuds/itachitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Alphas can be territorial."</p><p>"I'm an alpha," Scott says, loosening his fingers where they grip Isaac's sleeve.</p><p>Isaac's heart jumps, and then picks up a little, thrumming under his skin. "You're different," he says, and looks away. "You're not really like any alpha I've ever met."</p><p>(Omegaverse AU: in which both Scott and Allison are alphas in an entirely non-traditional way.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Heart, This Alpha Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amorremanet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/gifts).



> Thanks ammoremanet for having such an intriguing and detailed list of prompts! I hope I hit at least a few and you like it overall. <333 Thank you to the mods of this fantastic fest (TW Rarepair Exchange) for being so accommodating with me! And thank you so much to my dear cheerleader/beta lesflammables, without whom I would have scrapped this and rewritten it and angsted and generally just not really gotten anything done. (Ur the best, bb!)
> 
> As for the fic: I haven't been following 3b, so characterization from there is not included. This A/B/O-verse is a little looser than most, and much of the biology is left vague. Haha? Enjoy!

When Stiles is about to go into heat, the whole world hears about it. Granted, the "whole world" in this context is mainly just Scott, but still.

"This is the third time this _year_ ," Stiles moans from the bathroom. "It's these goddamn suppressants. I swear they're making it worse."

"Go talk to Deaton and get a new prescription Stiles, seriously," says Scott, stocking the fridge with bottles of water and Gatorade. "You said you were going to do that last time but you never did."

"I can't catch a fucking break," Stiles says, and then heaves.

&&&

"Not that shit again," Stiles says when he sees the Gatorade.

"It's healthy, and it replenishes electrolytes," Scott says, layering pickles and chicken onto a slice of bread. Stiles has cleaned up some, but still smells like a weird, unappetizing combination of puke and aroused omega. "You always sweat like crazy, you'll need it."

"Whatever," Stiles says, and flops onto the couch. "I don't think I'll survive this one, honestly. I'm pretty sure it's actually possible to die of sexual frustration during a lonely heat. If not, I'll be the first. I could do that, for science."

Scott tops the sandwich with another slice of bread and puts it into a plastic bag. "You'll find someone someday, dude."

"Omegas don't get to be virgins at my age, Scott. At this point, I'm pretty sure it's permanent."

"Virginity isn't permanent," Scott says, throwing the sandwiches he's made into the fridge on top of three tubs of Chinese food. "Please don't stink up the couch while I'm gone."

It's already too late, Scott's nose tells him. Stiles is already starting to sweat, and the pheromones are... strong. He grabs his bag.

Occasionally, people ask why Scott hasn't just knotted up and screwed Stiles out of his misery. Mostly they don't have to answer; the look on both of their faces when the idea is mentioned is usually enough. If Scott had to actually pin it down, though, he'd say it was something about the way Stiles smells. Not that Stiles smells bad—he still smells tempting, like an omega desperate for a knot, ugh—but not _right_. Not the way that heat-sick omegas are supposed to smell, to alphas.

So Scott just stocks the fridge before he leaves. It's the best he can do.

&&&

He goes to the coffee shop two blocks away from campus and settles into a comfy chair with a grande caramel latte (topped with extra whip and sprinkles, courtesy of the cute barista at the counter) and his duffel bag.

He pulls out his phone.

"Stiles is in heat again," he says when Lydia picks up.

"Really? Again?" she asks, before giving a crackling sigh. "I suppose if anyone were to have those famed frequency side effects it would be him. I suppose this means you're looking for someone to put you up."

Scott cracks a grin; it doesn't go through the phone, but he knows Lydia can see it. "Just for the weekend. He should be done in two days."

"What I don't understand," Lydia says, "is why _he's_ staying in the apartment and kicking _you_ out. There are safe external sites omegas can go to when they can't stay in their homes for heat."

"It's just a weekend," Scott says, "and no. He's not going to one of those. First, the conditions are kind of shitty, have you ever been to one? And second, he went once and actually got banned from returning. He, uh, won't tell me what happened."

"Whatever," Lydia says, voice pretty clearly indicating _Even if you did know, I have no desire to be told_. "Regardless, no, you cannot sleep on my couch this weekend. I have a visitor. We'll be very loud. We may need the couch."

"Ah, geez... Not even one night? You know you're one of my only beta friends."

"Just because I'm a beta doesn't mean I can't be territorial over my own space," she snaps. "And don't give me that _it's different for an alpha_ crap; that is all purely a matter of socialization. This is the third time this year."

"Believe me, I know," Scott sighs, and tries a sip of his latte. He catches the cute barista at the counter watching him as he fits his lips over the lid. There is a gut-twisting moment of eye contact—the barista's eyes are sharp and very blue—before Scott blinks awkwardly away. "Any suggestions of who else I can go to, then?"

"Try Danny, or Boyd. They're alphas, sure, but neither of them hates you," Lydia says. Then she adds, offhand, "Or you could even try Allison. You two seemed to hit it off last time."

She can't see him, but it's probably still not safe for Scott to blush. "I don't know Allison _that_ well. I don't want to be all—stranger in her territory, you know. Besides, she's in Europe at an archery competition right now."

Lydia hums at him, skeptical. "I guess you're in trouble then. Good luck."

Scott knows very well that Lydia does not believe in luck. He looks down at the blinking 'ended call' screen of his phone, and then up—to where the cute barista is washing the large table across from Scott. His arms are long and he makes wide strokes with the rag, bending at the waist to get to the entire surface.

None of this is going to end well.

Scott calls around. Danny says he could do it, maybe, but had been planning on going out—his code for "you know I always get laid Friday nights". Boyd says, flatly, "No." Scott even calls his mom; it's too long a drive to make it back to her place for that night, but it's nice to talk to her anyway. He hasn't in a while.

Towards the end of their conversation, his mom asks, as usual, "Met any nice omegas I should know about?"

"Mom, stop being embarrassing," Scott says, as usual. And then, just because it's been on his mind, he adds more quietly, "And anyway, it's not like omegas are the only nice people I could meet. Right?"

His mom goes hushed for a brief moment before she says, "That's absolutely right. Thanks honey."

"It's not—!" he starts, but then sighs.

She sounds like she's smiling when she says, "I love you, Scott. Tell Stiles hello for me."

"Love you too mom. I will."

When he hangs up now, a glance out the windows shows it's past sunset; he's been here for hours. "Fuck," he mutters, and looks back down at his phone. "I guess... Danny?"

The coffee shop is almost empty; most other students have gone home or to the libraries by now. The cute barista is behind the counter, leaning on his elbows. He raises an eyebrow when Scott's gaze falls on him, and asks, "You want a refill?"

"Nah," Scott says, slouching down in his chair a bit. "I mean, it's definitely looking like it'll be a late night, but if anything I'd rather just have some water."

"Sure," the barista says obligingly. He fills a cup with plain water and steps around the counter to bring it to Scott. Their fingers touch as he hands the cup over.

"Um," Scott says. "Thanks?"

The barista is very tall, and his nametag reads, _Isaac_. He steps back, but not too far, leaning against a nearby table and watching. Scott can't help but go a little red; he keeps his eyes on the water inside the cup as he tips it up.

He doesn't need to see, though. From this distance he can finally smell. Between sips, he breathes in through his nose: underneath the rich coffee smell of the shop, Isaac smells like cream and wool, full of static, and faintly of sweat. He smells like an omega.

"Earlier you sounded like you were looking for a place to stay," Isaac says suddenly, and nods his head at Scott's duffel. "I'm not sure if you were having any luck."

"Not... especially," Scott says, peering at Isaac over the rim of his cup. "Why?"

Isaac shrugs, twists his mouth like it's no big deal. "I've got a couch, if you're interested."

&&&

Scott has never tried to stay at an omega's house before. It had always seemed like a bad idea.

It probably is a bad idea.

They order Thai food for dinner. Scott pays, like a good houseguest, and they serve themselves from the cartons onto a pair of Isaac's chipped plates. Scott reaches for one of the spring rolls at the same time Isaac does. Their fingers touch, and Isaac's eyes flick over to his before he slowly withdraws. Scott swallows a few times, throat dry, before he too pulls away, and says, "You take it."

The food goes fast. The inside of Scott's mouth burns from the spices in the curry as he watches Isaac lick peanut sauce from his lower lip.

Everything—the chairs, the couch, the carpet—smells like Isaac.

It's as they're doing the dishes, side by side, that Scott brings it up. It's the only fair thing to do, he feels. If it had been him, he knows he would want to know.

"So," he says, intently scrubbing the final probably-not-even-that-dirty glass. "I hope this isn't weird, but you smell... really good. If that bothers you, I can go find someplace else to stay. I have a friend who might be able to put me up. Or—"

Isaac takes the glass from between Scott's fingers and puts it on the sideboard, not even bothering to rinse the soap suds off. "I was wondering if it was just me," he says, warm at Scott's side.

He's taller than Scott: far taller than the average omega. When Scott turns to look him in the eye, he has to tilt up his chin, and it's an odd feeling; it throws him off and makes him shiver at the same time. Isaac's eyes are as intense and blue as they were in the coffee shop and over dinner. Now that they're fully trained on him, his heartbeat starts to spike.

"I like how you smell too," Isaac says, and pulls Scott's still-soapy hand to his hip.

Scott breathes in once, and then leans forward, up as Isaac comes down. The kiss starts slow, soft, and unfolds into something heady. Scott imagines that the same enticing omega smell which tickles at his nostrils is there in Isaac's mouth, an elusive flavor driving him to kiss harder, deeper, to get at it.

When they finally break apart, Scott's panting and they're both pressed up against the sink. Isaac's face is flushed, lips very red, and he's smirking. "All right there, alpha?" he asks.

"I don't do this very often," is all Scott can say. He isn't very sure what he means, once it's said.

"And if I do?" Isaac raises an eyebrow. "You won't look down on me, will you?"

"What? No!" Scott says. He thumbs gently under the hem of Isaac's shirt, touching the skin of his hip, and presses into him for another kiss. This one is softer, but their hips are locked firm together, and Scott is harder than he thinks he's ever been in his life. His mind flashes briefly to Allison, but none of his thoughts come together into anything coherent—he's too caught up in the slide of Isaac's teeth over his lip and Isaac's tongue in his mouth. He's not sure he wants to think about anything else. Does he need to?

Isaac's fingers curl almost tenderly against his skin. 

This seems like the sort of situation where an alpha could get overwhelmed. Instinctively, Scott breaks the kiss—their lips make a dirty, wet noise as they come apart, and someone gasps—and presses his nose to Isaac's neck where the smell of him is strong.

Yes. It's fine like this. It's more than fine.

"Hey," Isaac says after a moment, slipping a finger into Scott's jeans. "Bed?"

&&&

Scott isn't a virgin. In high school he was a bit isolated except for Stiles—odd for an alpha, maybe, and everyone thought they were doing it—but it meant that people would sometimes come to him.

"I want to try it," a girl had said to him. They had known each other vaguely since they were little, since before he was an alpha or she was an omega. "I don't want my first time to be... then."

So they'd fumbled around together before her heat. She'd moved away in their sophomore year, but he still remembered things about her, and the way she'd moved. He remembered that she'd smelled good. It was nice.

&&&

Scott can't help squirming when Isaac pushes his jeans down his hips, exposing his underwear.

"Alright?" Isaac asks. Before Scott can take in a breath to answer, Isaac's mouth is on the outline of his dick, doing something between sucking and breathing.

"Been a while," Scott tries to say, except Isaac finds the base of Scott's dick—that exact spot, right where the knot will grow, where it might already be swelling—and wets it with his tongue. Sucks a little, hard.

It's all very overwhelming.

"Save that for me," Isaac says when he pulls away, glancing up at him.

Heat swirls in Scott's gut for a bright moment. Then, because there isn't really an answer to that, he pulls Isaac up and to the bed, kissing his mouth.

Their fingers get busy in each others' waistbands, pushing pants down as far as they'll go with their legs tangled together. Scott kicks his socks off his feet as he trails kisses down Isaac's jaw, behind his ear. Isaac is sweating a little already, and Scott can smell it. He's probably sweating too; Scott feels Isaac's nose against his neck—then his mouth, then his tongue—and hears the low, hungry sound Isaac makes.

He slides his hands lower, feeling the skin of Isaac's ass against his palms. Isaac arches into it, twists a little until Scott's fingers slip closer to his hole.

"Can I?" Scott asks, panting. Isaac is so wet he can feel it.

"Obviously," Isaac says, smirking. Scott doesn't smirk back—he doesn't like to think of this sort of thing as obvious.

Isaac rolls a little away from Scott's hands onto his back, kicking off the jeans bunched at his thighs, and then his underwear. With one leg, he pulls Scott back in easily, between his thighs. "Sorry," he says, whispering into Scott's ear. "I really want you to."

"There's no rush, right?" Scott asks, not really asking. He rests his thumbs into the little hollows of Isaac's hips, making little circles. It's a moment he wants to take, because Isaac is flushed and wet, a little frantic around the eyes. He groans a little at the touch of Scott's hands, curls his legs tighter around Scott's hips.

"Come on," Isaac says.

"Alright, alright," Scott says, and reaches down into the little crack of space between them.

One finger goes in easily. Even two isn't really any more difficult. He stops there though, biting his lip and breathing a little harder as he watches them slide in. Isaac's breath has stopped up somewhere, coming out in tiny little sweeps as Scott presses in and out.

He uncurls his legs from Scott's waist, hips lifting a little for better access. Scott watches his eyes fall shut and his chin tilt back, pleasure evident in the lines of his face. What Isaac says though, is, "You don't have to."

"Do you want me to stop?" Scott asks. Slowly, he slides in a third finger, presses up until Isaac gasps, toes curling.

" _Ah_. No," Isaac breathes.

Scott tries to be methodical about it, if only to keep himself from blowing his top just from the smell and sound of Isaac in front of him, inching steadily closer to orgasm. It seems to work for Isaac though, who arches perfectly in time with his rhythm, mouth opening wider with each thrust of Scott's fingers.

He can't stop himself from leaning in eventually, when he thinks Isaac is getting close. Using his hips to brace the thrusts of his hand, he leans in, playing his lips and teeth against Isaac's shoulder. Isaac rubs up against his stomach—the position is almost like Scott's actually got his dick in Isaac instead of his fingers, but not quite, because his cock is there dragging at the inside of Isaac's thigh instead, satisfying and frustrating all at once.

Maybe that's the part of it that makes Isaac curse wildly, gripping at Scott's bicep. His hips start to jerk in the wrong time, and it's not too long before everything is wet between them.

After coming, Isaac just lays there, flushed, looking somewhere between lost and desperately satisfied.

"So," he says, almost hoarsely, "you still want to fuck me?"

Scott tries not to look too obviously proud of his own handiwork, but can't help himself from leaning down to suck a mark into the relaxed muscle of Isaac's thigh. "Fucking, blowjob, whatever you want. That was hot. What _do_ you want?"

In the end, it's a handjob, but there's something in the air besides the pheromones—magic, chemistry, Scott doesn't know. He comes easily. Isaac fists his knot tight, looking down with fascination as it pulses between them.

&&&

"That was really good," Isaac tells him. Or tells the ceiling, maybe, since that's where he's looking.

"Don't sound so surprised," Scott says, and reaches over.

Isaac's hair is damp with sweat, curling even more ferociously at his temples than it had been when it was dry. It is very soft against Scott's palm.

There's silence between them for a pleasant while, before Isaac says, "I don't have work tomorrow, by the way."

&&&

"No," Stiles tells him after, "seriously, no. You did _not_ just have a marathon sex weekend during _my_ heat, while I was shacked up here alone with nothing but my hand and a practically worn-out dildo."

"How do you even wear out a dildo?" Scott asks, prodding at the taco meat on the stove.

"Well, you wouldn't know, would you now," Stiles snipes.

Scott rolls his eyes and pulls the taco meat off the burner. "There you go," he says. "Help yourself. You should really learn how to cook."

"Whatever," Stiles says. "You should really learn how to share the population of hot single people with your friend Stiles, who has somehow survived twelve heats and is still a virgin."

Later, when they're on the couch playing a lazy game of Halo and Scott is trying not to think of how much studying he needs to catch up on, Stiles says, "I thought you were head-over-heels for that alpha girl though. You okay?"

Scott thinks of Allison's smile, and feels his stomach go hot and warm in that same way it always does. His fingers slow as he considers the feeling, and by the time he looks back at the screen Stiles has shot him. He's already respawning.

"I'm not sure what's going to happen," is all he says, and goes back to the game.

&&&

Allison is unlike any alpha that Scott had ever met. When they see each other again after she comes back, the strength of her presence washes over him again, and he sits up and forward, straight like there's a challenge to be met. The only thing overtly alpha-like about her, aside from that presence, are the steel-toed boots she wears with her tights and dresses. While most alphas stick to jackets, jeans, or leather, Allison navigates omega fashion like a native tongue.

"The competition went well," she says when Scott asks, and crosses one leg over the other where she sits, in a demurely flowered skirt. "I placed."

"That's great," he says, meaning it honestly. "I wish I could have seen it. I bet you were amazing."

She smiles. "Thanks. I wish I could have been here though. You smell like you got up to something... interesting."

Scott flushes a little. He'd showered _plenty_ of times, he swears, because he knows exactly how sensitive alpha noses are. "Wha—me?"

"Yes, you," Allison says, and Scott swears she must be teasing him. She leans in close, suddenly, eyes locked on his all the way until she tilts to the side, her breath soft and careful as it just barely brushes his ear.

When she breathes in deeply, Scott does too—she smells faintly of strawberries, of some tangy metal, and something sweet like skin. Her hair is pinned up in a bun, and it leaves her pale neck bare; the stretch of it is tempting and unnerving at the same time. The bare half-second that he spends staring at it drags out long, like a string of syrup. He feels a thrumming that goes through his chest like a growl, or maybe a purr, and he can't tell which one of them it's comes from.

"I definitely smell an omega," she says, pulling back before Scott's brain has entirely melted into mush. Her eyes twinkle. "Did you have a good time?"

He's so flustered the words almost won't come out. "Um. Yeah, I—we—. It was good."

"Girl? Boy?" she asks. She looks genuinely curious. "If you don't want to talk about it that's cool too, of course."

"No, I—it's fine." Scott pauses just a moment, until he feels balanced again. "It was a boy."

"Mm," Allison says, and her eyes flash just the tiniest bit red. "Tell me about him."

&&&

There is something about telling Allison about Isaac that _works_ for Scott. (From the tiny intent way Allison's eyes narrow as he talks, from the soft part of her lips and catch in her breath, he thinks it works for her too.)

He doesn't say much, really. It's a little too intimate, too quiet, but at the same time it's good to get it out. Her questions are gentle and infrequent, but hit deep.

"He smelled... comforting," Scott recalls. "Soft, even though he wasn't."

"Could you have just... sat with him and smelled him?" Allison asks. "Sometimes I just want to sit there, breathing someone in."

"He would have gotten impatient, I think," Scott says. Then, a little hushed, "but yeah. I could have."

They're quiet after that. Contemplative. Sometime during the silence, Allison's foot inches across the space between them, and touches his.

"You should come over sometime," she says, before they part ways that afternoon.

"Really?" he asks, surprised. 

"Yeah," she says. "I'd like that."

&&&

He's not sure what kind of fate he's tempting when he goes back to the cafe that afternoon, wondering if Isaac's going to be behind the counter.

He's not. Scott orders a drink anyway, and sips it slowly while looking out the wide windows, thinking about nothing in particular. Coffee. The crispness of fall. The smell of static, caught in a woolen scarf.

This feels like the sort of situation where Scott should really have a plan. Is it bad if he just wants to live it, and see what happens?

&&&

Stiles thinks he's crazy. (To be more accurate, Stiles thinks he's flirting with danger, and that he should probably get his will written up while there's still time.) Scott has never been in the habit of thinking things too far ahead, though he knows he probably could.

"Dinner?" Allison asks.

It feels like a date; Scott knows he's not projecting. Allison's never said anything to him, but she puts her arm in his in an old-fashioned kind of way, and leads him around by it. If he can't guess what she's doing from that alone, then there's also the way people look at them—usually with either a charmed or annoyed sort of expression, at the boy in dark jeans and the girl in a soft pink skirt, a classic alpha/omega pair—until they get close enough to tell that they are smelling two alphas, at which point they always look confused.

"If this is you asking me out—" he starts.

"Do you really want to put a name to it?" Allison asks, arranging herself neatly at the restaurant table. "I just think you're cute. Cuter than most people I've ever met, alpha, beta, or omega. I want to go with it."

"Yeah," Scott says, grinning helplessly, "okay."

&&&

It's days of texting—little things that might not even be flirtatious, just _what's your favorite color? :P_ and _guess!_ and things like that. It's nights laying in bed, wondering what he's doing and who he's even thinking about when he jerks off, quietly into his hand. It's a slow morning in bed, thinking about what he'd told his mom, about what it means if he's an alpha who likes another alpha: if it means anything, or if it's really no one else's business.

"Do what you want, seriously," Stiles says, with his mouth full of eggs. "Don't come talk to me about it though. It'll just make me jealous. I'm already pretty fucking jealous, actually." But he meets Scott's eyes the same way as always: steady, like a good friend.

Scott wants to catch Isaac again, so he goes back to the cafe that Friday. It's a bit busy inside, but there he is, in the same apron as before, working some noisy machine behind the counter. When he turns around and sees Scott, his face lights up.

"Hey," Scott says, when he reaches the counter. "Caramel latte?"

"Of course," Isaac says, and rings him up. Their fingers brush together, most unprofessionally, when he takes Scott's change.

Later, after dealing with more orders, he sidles up to the table next to Scott's and starts wiping it down. What Isaac says isn't quite what he'd expected, though maybe it should have been.

"You smell different." Isaac's head is cocked, just this side of wary; it's perfectly clear what he means. Scott flushes a little, but honesty is the best policy. Right?

"I—there's this girl I like. We kind of... talked. I don't know. We're figuring it out."

"Oh," Isaac says, and looks down the table he's only halfway done with wiping off. His face doesn't fall or anything like that, but his motions slow for a brief second. "Congratulations?"

Scott wants to put his hand there, on Isaac's where it's clenched around the washcloth. "Um, she's fine with me seeing other people. Just so you know."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Isaac asks, starting to wipe down the table more vigorously.

Scott swallows. "All it means is that it's completely up to you, what you want. I'm... I want to know."

Isaac pauses, glancing Scott's way out of the corner of his eye. "Huh." He looks away again. "My heat's going to be this month. I was gonna ask if you wanted to join me."

Scott can hear Isaac's heartbeat jump a little, nervously. "Really?"

"Yeah," Isaac says. "I haven't had great partners before. I really enjoyed last time with you and I'd do it again. If you have an omega already though, I really wouldn't want to come between the two of you, so—" He shrugs, like that's that.

"She's not an omega," Scott says, and the tension clearly visible in Isaac's shoulders make him reach out to touch his shirtsleeve. Isaac doesn't shake it off, but also doesn't look back at him. "She's an alpha."

 _That_ makes Isaac look. "Even more reason then," he says, once he apparently judges that Scott is entirely serious. "Alphas can be territorial."

"I'm an alpha," Scott says, loosening his fingers where they grip Isaac's sleeve.

Isaac's heart jumps again, and then picks up a little, thrumming under his skin. "You're different," he says, and looks away. "You're not really like any alpha I've ever met."

&&&

In the end, Isaac accepts his phone number, scribbled in pen on a paper cup jacket.

"Think about it as long as you want," Scott says. "Call or text whenever. I know it's kind of different, but I think it's worth trying."

"Maybe," Isaac says. His voice is overly casual, Scott thinks, and the hunch to his shoulders hasn't gone away. Scott can only hope that these little signs all mean that deep down, Isaac believes so too.

&&&

The rest of the month passes slow and fast all at once. He's waiting for a call, but at the same time he's learning, growing: falling a little bit harder for Allison every time he sees her.

"Isn't it hard to dress like that, though?" Scott asks. He's on the floor of Allison's apartment, leaning against her knee and running his finger over her ankle. Her sheer stockings fascinate him and kind of scare him at the same time.

"I get into fights with my mom all the time about it," she says, wriggling her toes into the carpet. "Like I need to look like an alpha to really be one, or something. It's silly. I like dressing this way."

Scott sighs and presses his nose into her calf. "You're amazing," he says, and quickly drops a kiss there.

It's only a shy kiss, light and brief. Still, it feels huge because there is something about kissing—something more than those long, intimate glances from very close—that feels like a milestone. He's not sure what it is about this moment that does it, but there is something between them that feels changed once his lips have left her skin. Scott looks up, heart in his throat, and Allison looks like she feels it too. Slowly, with purpose, she drags her hand through his hair and pulls, coaxing him to tilt his head just _this_ way as she leans down.

Her lips are soft, and have that _good_ quality lip gloss on them—the kind that tastes so like a strawberry that Scott can barely tell the difference. He'd get preoccupied sucking it off if it wasn't for Allison's tongue in his mouth, the sharp bite of her teeth dragging a growl out of his chest. He clutches at her waist, fingers a little too tight; she laughs into his mouth and pushes him to the floor.

The grand total of two girls he's ever been with were an omega and beta, respectively. He has no idea how to get an alpha girl off, despite all the porn Stiles had suggested he watch. Maybe even especially because of the porn Stiles suggested he watch. Stiles always has the worst ideas.

"Stop worrying about it, I'll teach you," Allison says, her grin wicked as she straddles him properly. "You learn fast, right?"

Scott swallows, and grips at her thighs. "I guess we'll see."

At first it's much the same as he's familiar with. Once she's kicked her underwear off (but not her skirt), it's the light touch of fingers, a little spit, a little wet as she groans and moves her hips over his. What's most different is the way she hisses, like even one finger is a hard stretch, and the way her clit swells against his thumb.

"Like this, or more?" he asks, when Allison gasps and her hips start trembling.

"With your mouth," she says, then blushes. "If you want."

He does.

They're not going to knot, being two alphas, but it's still a surprise to see the differences of her there, in the dim patterned light beneath her skirt. She's wet on his tongue, and hard, and his mouth fits neatly around her. When he sucks she nearly screams, jerking her hips first away and then closer. Her blunt fingernails dig into the back of his neck.

He's actually surprised when she comes, nearly chokes on her fluid. He pulls off quickly, coughing, and she growls, " _No_ , no no, fuck," and tugs at herself hard, biting her lip until her hips finally stop rocking, and she's left there spent and wet and flushed, absolutely gorgeous.

"Damn," Scott says. "Sorry."

"No, it was good," she replies, straightening her bent legs and sitting up. The flushed satisfaction on her face melts slowly until her expression is something nervous and determined. "I want to blow you," she says. "Are you... really big?"

He blushes and doesn't say anything, just unzips his pants.

He's a mess already, the inside of his briefs wet, and she just sits on his lap for a while, tugging easily on his nipples rather than his cock, until he moans and buries his face in her shoulder, breathes in.

"I didn't think I would be this nervous," she tells him eventually. "The only guys I've ever been with were omegas."

"You really don't have to," he mumbles, head already spinning from her scent and her knowing fingers against his chest, the slow grind of her hips against him. "Even just this is so awesome."

"I want to, though," she says and goes down.

She's light, tentative at first, but gets firmer, and her hands are authoritative on his hips. He guides her a little— _faster, ah, you can use your other hand, yeah_ —and when he finally crests the peak, she swallows with much more finesse than he had. The taste makes her face scrunch up, and he flops onto his back and laughs, boneless and ridiculously happy.

"I take it that was okay, then," she says, climbing back up over his legs.

"It was awesome," Scott says, lacing one hand with hers. He can't think of any other words for it; the inside of his chest feels airy and light. Allison leans down against his mouth and smiles through a kiss.

She's getting her second wind, and he can feel her hard against his thigh, rocking down slowly but steadily in minute, insistent motions, like there's a part of her that wants to fuck him.

And when he considers it, he thinks that's actually—an interesting thought.

&&&

"Good god, you guys are overpowering," Stiles says, covering his nose after Scott comes back. "Can you go take a shower or something?"

"I will if you promise not to jerk off thinking about Allison while I'm in there," Scott says.

"No can do, bro. Really sorry."

Sigh.

It's worth it though, in the couple of weeks that follow. There aren't any pheromones to speak of, but she still smells amazing, and they can't really be alone together for any length of time before they're all over each other. He learns things that he never wants to unlearn: that she loves straddling him in a skirt and rubbing up on him, that she likes when he grips her thighs hard. That she likes to pull his hair, and that her kisses are sweet and fresh every time, brilliant things that make his head spin.

They never knot, sometimes don't even come. Often they just sit together touching: two alphas comfortable in each others' space, comfortable with tiny, intimate gestures. (Kisses to the base of the throat. Fingers against teeth. Eye contact.)

Scott still thinks about Isaac, but hasn't heard from him since their last meeting. He's been avoiding the cafe, trying to give him space, but after a month passes with no word he figures the decision has been made. Allison asks if he wants to talk about it, but he doesn't. Not really. 

It's a Wednesday night and they are having their usual midweek night in (with Scott stretched out on Allison's bed, flipping through his textbook while she pokes through the collection of boardgames in the closet) when he gets the text.

_heat's going to start tomorrow. later than i thought, sorry._

_let me know if you still want to._

"What?" Allison says, when he makes a noise.

"...I think it's from Isaac," Scott says.

"Oh my god!" Allison says, turning to him. "Did he finally ask you out?"

"Kind of," Scott says, staring at the screen until it goes dark. "I'm pretty sure this is a booty call."

Allison's eyes go a bit dark. "Not a bad start." She abandons the boardgames and comes up next to him on the bed. "Are you going to go?"

They haven't really talked about _it_ together—about their relationship, and about their other potential relationships. Especially not when, at least from Scott's perspective, there seemed to be increasingly less of a pressing reason to. "Would it still be okay with you?" he asks.

"I'm a little jealous, to be honest," Allison says, leaning in to kiss him gently. When she pulls away, her eyes are still dark, glittering a little. "Though I'm not really sure who I'm feeling jealous of."

The tight worry around Scott's ribs loosens. "So if I said I was thinking I would go..."

"...then I'd say have fun," Allison says, shrugging. "Go out there and treat him right. And if it goes well, then maybe come back here after. I want to know what he smells like."

"You're the best," Scott says, and hugs her. She just smiles, hugs him back.

&&&

It's a complicated feeling, this anticipation. It's a little nerve-wracking too.

He's never actually been with an omega in heat before, and the thought of it excites him and freaks him out at once. He's smelled omegas at the head or tail end of one—Stiles, mostly—and he can't quite comprehend what it will feel like to be in the middle of that. Whether the scent will get to his head, like all the locker room talk he'd heard in his life suggested it would; whether he'll be able to make it good for Isaac, who has to have done this many times before.

Allison has brightly-colored magazines strewn all over the inside of her closet, things that he wonders if she's ever read: stacks of _Cosmo_ and _Alpha Female_. When she's in the bathroom, he peeks at the inside of one.

_We asked 10 celebrity omegas: Tips on a hotter heat!_

_How to treat your omega right!_

He feels a little weird, and puts it down before she gets back.

All he texts Isaac is, _I still want to._

&&&

"Don't be nervous about it," Allison tells him, when he calls her two hours before he's supposed to go to Isaac's house. "It'll be intense, but your instincts should do most of the work. Talk to him as much as you can beforehand. He won't be as coherent later."

"Right," Scott says. This sounds like a disaster in the making.

"The most important thing is stamina, mostly," Allison says. "Otherwise, it's just like regular sex. Don't treat it too differently. Dominate him. Make sure he gets enough water."

"Right," Scott repeats.

It's nothing he hasn't heard from basic health classes. Feed your omega. Water them. Take care of them. Omegas aren't plants or pets, he'd always thought, disgruntled. They're people.

That's half the problem, though. People are complicated.

&&&

When Scott knocks, Isaac opens the door in sweatpants and nothing else. He sniffs at him once, then steps aside to let Scott (and Scott's bags of food, packed neatly away in tupperware) inside.

"I was expecting you to kind of stink," Isaac says, when Scott shoots him a questioning look. "What with you having a girlfriend and all. It messes with your body chemistry. Kind of works on you, though."

"If you want to smell me, don't be shy," Scott says, shucking off his jacket and dropping the food. They're going to be all up in each others' business soon enough; no reason to hold off until then.

Isaac smells like Scott remembers—soothing with a sharp, staticky edge—but somehow _more_. It's the sharp edge that comes through strongest right now, because Isaac is just barely starting to sweat. He steps up into Scott's space, his expression cool but his heartbeat a little fast. Scott's forgotten how tall he is; the hairs on the back of his neck prickle a little.

"I've never done this before," he says quickly. "Heat, I mean. Maybe I should have told you."

Isaac's expression cracks a little, surprise showing through in the raise of an eyebrow. He loops his arms around Scott's neck anyway. "No big. We fuck. You get the knot in. We fuck harder. Rinse and repeat until I can't stand it anymore. It's not that difficult."

"People keep saying that," Scott says.

"That's because it's true," Isaac says. His face is getting increasingly flushed—maybe it's the proximity?—and he drops his nose into Scott's hair. "I might say weird shit though. Just ignore me."

"I couldn't ignore you," Scott mutters.

Isaac's arms tighten briefly, before he lets go.

&&&

There's still an hour or so before it really starts, Isaac eventually tells him.

"I could put on a movie or something," Isaac says.

"Or we could talk," Scott says.

Isaac looks towards the battered little TV in the corner like he would really, really rather watch a movie.

It's weird, Scott thinks. Feeling like someone is a hundred miles away even when they're right in front of you. Feeling like you can't touch someone even when you can smell them, can practically taste them, they're so near.

"Fine," Isaac says. "What do you want to know? You can use condoms or not, it's up to you. I'm clean. Not on suppressants, so it should only be a day or so."

"It'll be intense, though," Scott says.

"Yeah."

"Is there anything I should know?" Scott asks. "Anything I should or shouldn't do? Limits?"

"Just don't stop in the middle of anything you start," Isaac says. "I hate that."

His eyes are starting to droop more and more, and his face shines with sweat. He rubs at his temples with the inside of his wrist, and shakes his head. Abruptly, he heads for the bedroom. Scott follows, slowly.

"I'm going to try and rest for a little bit," Isaac says. "You'll know when I need you." He flops on the bed, kicks all the covers off aside from a solitary pillow.

Deeper questions are burning inside of Scott's chest. He doesn't think this is the right time to ask, but if not now, when?

"Is this just—" Scott starts, but Isaac curls away from him, from the question. He buries his face in the pillow.

"You'll know when I need you," Isaac repeats, muffled.

&&&

He's right.

"Scott—" Isaac calls. It's the first time Scott's heard him say his name yet today. Or rather, the first time in a month.

When Scott peeks into Isaac's bedroom, the smell that washes over him is almost overpowering. Isaac is on his stomach, flushed and uncoordinated. One of the legs of his sweatpants is still stuck around his ankle, but he's got two fingers in himself already, panting like he's run a marathon.

"Hey, I'm here," Scott says, hurrying out of his clothes. Condom, condom, fuck.

When Scott gets on the bed, Isaac immediately wraps himself around him, wrestles him a little. Scott lets him do what he wants—and Isaac winds up on top, nose buried in Scott's neck and legs tight around his waist. He breathes Scott in like he's some sort of drug.

"I thought I would hate the way she smelled on you," Isaac slurs into Scott's shoulder, not quite nonsensical. "Fuck."

"What do I smell like," Scott asks, heart in his throat.

The sigh Isaac lets out is deep, like it's released from the very core of him. "Good. That's all."

Scott wants to hug him, but when he reaches out Isaac hisses like his skin is on fire. He starts grinding his cock against Scott's belly, like that's going to soothe him.

"Here," Scott says, and maneuvers him with gentle touches to his hips. "Up and... yeah. Like that."

" _Fuck_ ," Isaac cries when he sinks down. Scott's head falls back and he tries not to groan—tries not to even look at Isaac, really, because he looks too perfect like that, sitting up and arching a little, moaning like just the feeling of Scott inside him is enough to come.

"Go on," Scott says, hoarse. "As hard as you want it. Show me."

Isaac does. Scott expects a fast pace, something hard that he'll have to grit his teeth to last through without coming, but instead Isaac slides down slow, biting his lip, like even in his heat-daze this is something he wants to savor.

Somehow that's even worse. Scott can already feel himself starting to knot.

"No—no—" Isaac says, when the motions he can make on Scott's cock get shorter and shorter, and then, "— _yes_ ," when Scott pulls him down and the knot starts to fill him up. His legs are trembling. All of him is trembling.

He doesn't come when Scott does, but he looks peaceful somehow. Like feeling it is enough.

&&&

The slow pace doesn't last. Half an hour later, a dozen long, steady strokes into the next round, Isaac is squirming under him, biting into his shoulder and moaning with every thrust and—Scott thinks—crying.

"Aren't you going to be a proper alpha about this," he hisses eventually, his face sweaty and wet. "Faster. _Fuck_ me, I need it."

"It seemed like you like it slow," Scott says, not speeding up at all.

"Fuck that," Isaac says, scrabbling at his back with pleasure-weak fingers. "Are you the kind of alpha that only does what his omega wants?"

Scott slows even more, looking down at Isaac. "What if I am? Something wrong with that?"

Isaac stares back at him, in some kind of half-delirious challenge. It itches the back of Scott's animal brain. "Just—do it harder. Or faster. Something."

His next stroke isn't any faster, but it hits deep. "Better?" he asks.

Isaac doesn't say anything, just holds him tighter and presses his face to Scott's throat, grunting through it. When he comes at last, tight around the knot, he makes a noise like choking, like it's painful.

&&&

The next round, Scott fucks Isaac fast, face-down, like he asks. They're both left shaking afterward, but not for the same reasons.

&&&

"Thirsty?" Scott asks.

"I hate this," Isaac says, voice thready. It sounds like the most honest thing he's said in hours.

"You should drink," Scott says.

"No. Fuck me," Isaac whines, and rolls over the mess of the sheets to splay out on his front, thighs wide.

"After you drink some of this," Scott says, and turns Isaac's head to press the lip of the bottle against his mouth.

Isaac consents to three swallows before he pulls away. "Gatorade?" he asks, sounding a good deal more coherent. "Are you serious?"

Scott glares at him. "It's better for you than water right now. Electrolytes."

"You're actually serious." Still, he rolls onto an elbow and takes the bottle. His grip looks weak, so Scott stays nearby just in case. It's good to see him like this. To see that he's still awake, down in there somewhere.

&&&

"Fuck," Isaac groans, when Scott lubes him up so well the stretch is hardly anything. "You can't, you can't—a _beta_ could do better than this, you fucking—fuck!"

"I'm going to do this like I want, okay?" Scott says. His abs are screaming at him. He couldn't go faster even if he wanted to.

The smell of sex and heat in Isaac's tiny bedroom is so overpowering, Scott can barely even smell Isaac himself anymore. It rubs him the wrong way—he finds himself cupping Isaac's face between his palms before he realizes what he's doing. He wipes the sweat off Isaac's brow with one thumb, drags fingers through his curls.

"Oh," Isaac says, and really arches with the next thrust. "Fuck. Scott."

"Yeah, I'm here," Scott says, trying for a rhythm that's deep and even. He kisses Isaac's mouth once—it's slack, slow to respond—and then drags his nose down the side of Isaac's neck. Here, if he really breathes in, he can catch that scent that he likes so much.

"Fuck," Isaac says again, when Scott bites down, sucking in a mark. He clutches at Scott's shoulders and hisses, chin tilting up. "God— _damn_ it. I missed you."

"Did you?" Scott asks, glancing up.

"Yeah I—" Isaac's breath hitches. He looks exhausted, the words slurring out of his mouth like he can't control them. "I couldn't help it."

Scott grits his teeth and changes the angle. "You're really an idiot."

He coaxes Isaac's orgasm out at just that pace, relentless.

&&&

It's sleep, fuck, sleep, fuck. Sleep.

When Isaac rouses again, later, Scott almost groans. Then he sniffs, and realizes the murky sweet scent of the heat is starting to fade.

"Oh my god," Isaac groans, rolling over, like he has the world's worst hangover.

"Here," Scott says, holding out—

"I hate Gatorade," Isaac says, but takes it anyway. "Get me some fucking coffee."

&&&

"So," Scott says, handing Isaac a mug of coffee. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," Isaac says. "I could sleep for another day, I think." But he takes long sips of coffee, even though it's still hot. After a minute or two he pauses, like he's savoring the taste, and sets the mug aside.

"I hope you're not too sore," Scott says, sitting gingerly on the bed next to him. He personally feels like he's been run over by a truck—one with a grudge against his lower half.

"I feel pretty good, actually," Isaac says, as if he's only just realizing it. He looks down at himself.

Scott watches him catalogue the few marks he's left: a paired set of hickies on his inner thighs, a dark mark on his shoulder with the distinct shape of Scott's teeth. "Sorry about those."

"I thought you'd leave more, actually."

The silence—the sight of Isaac tracing lines along his own skin, like he can smell the paths Scott took all over his body and is memorizing them—is too much. "Are we ever going to talk? Really talk?"

Isaac flushes, hands going still. "I didn't say anything weird to you, did I? I know I can say really shitty things to people during my heats. Sorry."

Scott frowns. "I could tell what you meant and what you didn't," he says.

"...Okay," Isaac says, like that's somehow worse.

"I don't understand," Scott says. "I like you. I've said that already. I haven't changed my mind. Whether you like me back or not, I just want you to be honest with me."

"I don't want to talk about this right now," Isaac says, hoarse. "Could we sleep first? Just a little?"

"...Fine," Scott says, trying to be patient. "Do you want to shower? Change the sheets first?"

"I don't care," Isaac says. The way he grabs a sheet from the floor and pulls it onto the bed, though, sure makes it seem like he means _no_. He curls up right where he is, closing his eyes.

He'll have to work on the communication skills, Scott thinks. For now though, he gets up to turn off the overhead light and check his phone, set to silent on the bedside table. No missed calls; he sends Allison a text. _Heat's done. Working it out. See you tomorrow._

Isaac had said _we_ , he thinks. That's telling, isn't it? Scott crawls into bed next to him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. To feel the shape of him, even though they're not touching.

"Did you text her?" Isaac asks, muffled by the sheets.

"Yeah," Scott says. "Are you upset?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because that sort of thing doesn't upset everyone," Scott says into the dark. "And you didn't really answer the question. Are you upset about it?"

Isaac's quiet for a long while, but he eventually says, "I'm not sure."

"That's okay. Figuring it out is the first step. When you think you know, just tell me. I'll be here."

There's quiet for another long while. Scott's just starting to feel sleepy, when he feels Isaac shift. A hand touches his chest.

"I like you back," Isaac says, hushed. "I know that much."

Scott covers Isaac's hand with his—listens to the bright _thump, thump_ of his heart. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They'll sleep first. Then they'll work it out.


End file.
